


ML Angst Collection

by kwamii



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Gen, ficlets galore!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-20 14:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwamii/pseuds/kwamii
Summary: Sometimes our sufferings make us stronger, but what could possibly be stronger than a superhero? Maybe the heroes of Paris are just weak, because their suffering seems never to stop.





	1. Mistakes / Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> **1) Mistakes / Aftermath** \- Ladynoir  
>  **2) Secrets / Lies** \- Alya + Marinette  
>  **3) Family / Friends** \- Adrien-centric  
>  **4) Love / Life** \- Mylevan  
>  **5) Victory / Defeat** \- Ladynoir  
>  **6) Confessions / Reveal** \- Ladrien / Adrinette  
>  **7) AU / Free Day** \- [available here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10664433/chapters/23603268)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first ladybug fic, and it was inspired by the prompts given by miraculous-weeks on tumblr. Hopefully I’ll be able to write some more pieces for other prompts throughout the week. I'm going to post it all as chapters rather than a series because I need to get the hang of how this site works and this way of doing things seems less intimidating somehow :P  
>   
> The prompt for this one was Mistakes / Aftermath and I tried to squeeze both ideas in a little bit because why not. This is also one of my first times writing angst (it’s not my forté) but I tried really hard and I'm pretty pleased with the finished result.  
>   
> This short fic has hints of LadyNoir but that's really only implicit; warnings for a bit of blood.

Adrien was a man in demand.

The schedule Nathalie had set up for him by his father’s instruction was often gruelling. Up at six, cardio, off to school, fencing, an hour for homework, video conference for a client, more homework, recreational slot, music, more physical training, meal, bed.

Sometimes, a modelling campaign would supercede this rigorous schedule. Sometimes it was his duty as Chat Noir. The pressure of being a celebrity, twofold, engulfed most of what remained of his energy. Some weeks, when things got really hectic, he would find his that his increasing dependence on naps would cut out entire erratic chunks of time from his day.

Occasionally, these interruptions came into conflict with one another. Maybe Chat Noir would have to bring a shoot to a close; his Paris, and his lady, were far more important than an upcoming atelier. It was rarer that his duty as a model interfered with his duty as a hero. But it happened.

Lipstick and powder rubbing off on the edges of his catsuit: embarrassing, but not an issue. His suited silhouette blurring against a billboard of his other self; dangerous to his identity, but to no one else. His schedule: a mistake.

Cooped up in a studio, it could be hard to tell when danger coiled in the Parisian boulevards. The make up artists and agents and interns, who hung on the peripherals on their phones, may just as likely be whispering observations into the director’s ear as warnings of an external threat. The unflappable artist would very rarely give anything away, and Adrien could not even show concern without ruining a shot and being chastised for it.

Ladybug would often chastise him as well, when he turned up late and she batted away his (not so) idle flirtation. Being late was, on the whole, okay. His partner was more than capable - she was amazing, miraculous! - and she forgave him; “I don’t know what your civilian life is like,” she told him once, cutting into his apology, realising before he did that his ring was beeping and time was too short for his regrets, “But if being late to a fight means that you’re protecting your secret as well as the people around you, I think that’s more than okay. It’s good to have you here but I understand if you can’t always make it. Evil never rests but us good guys definitely have to!”

The words were a relief, but what Ladybug didn’t understand was that at the top of the list of people he wanted to protect was her. And Adrien, of all people, could not rest; a cat always sleeps with its eyes half open.

So when he was stuck in a basement, shooting a campaign for a new range of boots, and it became clear to him that something was going on outside - a frenzy that creative fever could not explain - he became restless.

“Monsieur director, may I quickly go to the bathroom?”

“No, stay, we’re producing some very good shots here,” - code for: we think you’ll be unsafe if you leave this room and we can’t lose an asset/risk the scandal.

“Monsieur, please, I’m feeling very unwell,” - code for: my version of unsafe is different to yours, and you’ll be damned if I can’t handle myself.

“You look fine on camera. It must just be the lighting that’s making you feel dizzy. Someone fetch him some water.”

So Adrien sipped his water, glowering at the camera. Maybe his instincts were wrong, and he had nothing to fear. Maybe he genuinely was on good form today. Maybe he just hadn’t slept enough - this, after all, was not unusual.

But he couldn’t convince himself of this, and feigning nausea again, used the next cup of water to douse himself and, barking out apologies and promising to clean himself off, hurried from the room. Ignoring the swears that followed him, he ducked into an alcove and transformed, ready now to come to his lady’s aid.

He found her at l'Arc de Triomphe, crouched atop the great arch as she bid the small white butterfly goodbye. He berated himself for his lateness. He was proud of her, awed as he always distantly was, for managing alone. With such grace, such a taste for the picturesque, as she…

No, she wasn’t crouched, she was sprawled. Her legs were hunched beneath her awkwardly. She did not go to reassure the recently de-akumatised citizen.

Adrien rushed over, vaulted himself onto the arch, ready to apologise and help her recover, to make up for his lateness. The face under her mask was flushed with exertion - it must really have been a difficult fight.

But he was mistaken. The face under her mask was flushed with blood.

Adrien dropped his baton, mouth slack, “Oh my god… Ladybug…”

She looked up, squinting through the blood that dropped into her lashes, “Oh, Chat. You’re late to the party.”

How… how could she think this was the time to make jokes? He saw past her confidence in a flash. She was hurt. This was the first time she had faced a whole battle alone and she was hurt and it was his fault for not being there. He crept closer, hands trembling, wiping the place where her mask was beginning to brown, “Ladybug… I… how… what happened?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, but winced when he touched her, sucked in air through her teeth as he tried to shift the weight from her crumpled leg, “The akuma was a wrestler so, I mean, it was good practice for my self defense.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I failed you - I let you down - I…”

“You did what you could. You tried to make it.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Was it ever enough? What was the use in trying when so often the villains would use him, render him useless. He was weak and he knew he was nothing without her, his power was nothing without hers to lay these ghosts to rest. All his hands had the power to do was to hurt… and yet he’d never imagined Ladybug would be the one who’d end up hurting.

Her fractured leg was immovable, which made no sense since her Lucky Charm should surely have fixed it, and the blood… so much blood, too much for her suit to disguise. He felt sick. His mind buzzed, and so did his eyes. Tears lapped at the edges of his vision.

What could he now do without destroying something else? How could he atone for his negligence, his pivotal mistake?

In front of him, a ladybug with its wings torn off, unable to fly.

Her miraculous beeped. Then, silence.

“I-I don’t know if I can get down,” she admitted, voice breaking and betraying.

What could he do now? He had to heed her plea, but he didn’t know where to go from there. He scooped her up and pressed her close to the heart that shattered as she yelped in pain, and brought her down the side of the arch, staggering into an alleyway, desperately trying to find a way to protect both her injuries and her identity. Was there any?

What could he do?

He groped along the alley, eyes shut lest the transformation was sudden, stumbling over his feet and hearing her sharp intake of breath with each mistep. This pain was his fault. He should have been a better partner, a better friend, more reliable. Now look at her. Look at /him/, the monster still stalking the streets.

Yes, Adrien was a man damned.


	2. Secrets / Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new day, a new fic!
> 
> This one centres around Alya and Marinette (who, tbh, don’t deserve anything bad) and involves them texting. I’ve decided to denote texts by putting them in slashes /like this/. Alya’s messages will be in italics for added clarity.
> 
> So, to summarise: /this is a text from Marinette/ and / _this is Alya’s reply_ /
> 
> It’s maybe not the best system? but who cares, this is how we’re doing this ~

Marinette rushed through the door, pushing Tikki deep into her purse. Even though she’d detransformed, she still felt as though there were smears of Ladybug still on her, that some stray hair or spot would give her away. She hadn’t had time to change into something nice since she was late anyway.

Alya barely looked up as she came in, laughing at something Nino had said. To the side, Juleka and Rose were having a dance off, Max was back-seat gaming, Nathaniel looked shyly on, Ivan and Mylene were cuddling on the sofa, Alix was cramming chips into her mouth, Kim egging her on. Surrounded by her friends, Alya looked happy. Marinette felt something strangely like a pang go through her. It was almost as though she was intruding on this scene.

“S-sorry I’m late. Happy birthday, Alya!”

Maybe Alya didn’t hear her, caught up in the conversation as she was, but it wasn’t until Nathaniel said her name that she turned around. Her brow creased, “Oh, hi, Marinette. Good to see you.”

Her voice fell notably flat, and Marinette felt again that sharp jolt of discomfort. She rooted through her bag, grazing her kwami’s head as she did so, “I have something…” she blushed when she couldn’t find it. Evidently she’d forgotten to bring the hat she’d knitted for her friend. She finished, lamely, “At home for you. I’ll bring it into school tomorrow.”

“Are you talking about the cake?”

“The cake?” she echoed. They looked at each other for a long, awkward moment. Marinette clapped her hand onto her forehead: of course, the cake! She’d promised Alya she’d bring her favourite from the bakery. Evidently, she’d forgotten that too. She winced, “I’m so sorry Alya, I-”

“It’s ok. We have snacks in the kitchen.”

Alya turned back to the rest of the party, applauded as Juleka executed a particularly impressive dance move. Cautiously, Marinette edged forward and perched on the edge of the coffee table, just behind where Alya sat.

“By the way, Adrien texted to say he couldn’t come. He’s sick.”

“Oh. That’s a shame.”

“Hmm.”

What was wrong? Alya - effervescent, ebullient Alya - was icy and cold, and the unfamiliarity of it sent shards right into Marinette’s gut. Alya was probably hurt that she’d arrived late, but she could’t help it, she hadn’t /intended/ to. Ladybug just kind of… got in the way.

Now, Marinette felt glumly that she was in the way. She wasn’t really wanted here, and it was palpable. Alya only spoke to her once, and that was when she wanted her to pass some chips. Every moment of strained silence cracked into her ribs.

She didn’t get a chance to talk to her friend about it and apologise properly until later; somehow her birthday party didn’t seem the right place and time for it, not if Alya wasn’t willing to bring it up.

She messaged her later: /hi alya! thanks for having me over, and sorry again for being mega late… :// you’ll get your cake and your present later i promise x /

The reply took ten minutes to come: / _It’s not an issue. Thanks for coming._ /

This only exemplified the guilt and discomfort that she was feeling. Alya avoided grammar like the plague, and sentences were often simply too much effort to construct. The bluntness of the message was especially unusual.

/are you ok? i’m really sorry/

Another blank pause, before: / _look marinette I’m just a bit pissed rn because you’ve been blowing me off all year and idk I thought MAYBE my actual birthday might be a little different?? but apparently that’s too much to ask_ /

/I know and I have no excuse and I’m a total ass for doing that but I had to take care of something/

/ _ha funny because you’re not taking care of me_ /

/ _like couldn’t you even have texted me to tell me you’d be late? just a thought_ /

/I’m sorry I guess it slipped my mind/

/ _you’re such a liar_ /

/I wish i could explain but for now just trust me when I say it was important. I wouldn’t blow you off for anything less, you know that x /

/ _that’s real cute when you’re constantly busy_ /

/ _so I guess by that logic everything is more important to you than your best friend?_ /

/alya please I’m so so sorry/

/ _I can’t forgive you right now mari_ /

/ _I’m just so SICK of you making me feel second rate_ /

/ _and I could sort of understand it at first, i was 100% prepared to trust you_ /

/ _but you’re keeping way too many secrets now and it’s making me feel kind of shit_ /

/I promise I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can/

/you’re the most trustworthy person I know and I think that if anyone deserves to know it’s you/

/I’m sorry to leave you hanging like this/

/ _yeah well go hang yourself_ /

There was a long, long pause. Marinette stared blankly at her screen, feeling the pulse of imminent tears at the back of her eyelids. Her breath snagged on the shock.

/ _sorry. I’m in a mood_ /

/it’s ok. i’d be angry too if I were in your position/

/ _it’s just I’m beginning to think all these ‘secrets’ of yours are lies_ /

/ _and i just want you to be honest for once in your life_ /

/ _do you even care about me_ /

/of course! you’re my best friend Alya and I love you more than anyone else/

/ _i’m not exactly feeling the depth of your love right now_ /

/I really am sorry alya/

/ _if you really were sorry_ /

/ _like if you REALLY and GENUINELY gave a crap_ /

/ _you’d tell me why you blew me off on my birthday_ /

Marinette bit her lip, trying to think of a plausible lie. She could say it was a Ladybug thing - that would be the truth, after all - and that she’d been trying to get scoop for the Ladyblog - less true, but more plausible than 'I moonlight as a superhero in my spare time’.

She waited too long to develop her story, and Alya became impatient: / _i knew it_ /

Marinette started typing another apology, but Alya was faster: / _UGH I am not dealing with this bs today_ /

/I’m sorry alya/

She received no reply. She waited twenty minutes, head in her pillows, staring at her phone and waiting for it to buzz. Then, when it was clear Alya had no intentions of continuing the conversation, she made a final attempt at reconciliation: /I’ve really been a huge bitch to you today (and always) and I don’t think I can apologise enough. have a good evening, happy birthday, and I’ll see you tomorrow :) xx /

She couldn’t help but cry after she’d hit send. She knew she was busy looking after a city, but she was hardly managing to look after her most important friend, and the irony and immensity of this fact hurt her beyond description.

Marinette hadn’t cried herself to sleep for months now, but she did now. And she was very close to crying again the next morning when she saw Alya’s next message sent sometime while she was sleeping:

/ _I’m sorry for losing my cool at you earlier, Marinette, but you have to understand how frustrated I am. You’re my closest friend, and I’ve always felt like I can trust you. You’ve made me feel important and special ever since we first met, and I knew I could count on your support. And now I’m left thinking: how much of that is a lie? Am I really that special if you don’t care about me and want to see me? Do you really have my back if you bail on plans and get weird when I mention the things I’m interested in? I don’t feel like we talk anymore, and I think if this friendship is going to continue, I’d like to see you communicate with me: you can’t keep everything a secret. It’s unhealthy and it makes me feel worthless as a friend. Frankly, you’re starting to make me feel worthless a person. I’m not going to waste my time with you if you won’t do the same back. I’ve kept my personal feelings to myself for a while now (taking pointers from you, I suppose) but yesterday was the last straw. Unless you get your act together and start acting like my friend again, I’m not sure there’s much point. I’d rather you not talk to me today, to be honest. Maybe I’ll forgive you, maybe I’ll decide I want a full explanation before I feel comfortable around you again. I don’t know. The wounds are a bit fresh right now. Sorry, Marinette. I had to say this or I’d probably explode._ /

/ _Don’t worry about the cake. Leave it at home, it’s probably stale by now._ /

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I envision Alya as the most supportive friend and very understanding, and she would probably never lose her temper at Marinette, but when her patience goes past its limit, she'd go in Hard. Her temper inspires fear in all those that have witnessed it; if you saw that 'is currently typing' notification you would probably want to die because death would be better than making Alya angry, lbr.  
>   
> Also I hang out with serial messagers so SORRY if it's a bit unrealistic that these kids send 5 texts in a row with absolutely no sense of shame.


	3. Family / Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know that despite Adrien’s cute little face, he’s probably the angstiest teen alive, and he definitely has a lot of family drama (IMAGINE how much worse that would be when he discovers his dad is probably Hawkmoth).
> 
> aka. that’s too much angst for me and I’d rather just focus on his standard family sitch, so have a tiny little angst fic about la famille d’Agreste
> 
> (akaka. I’ve been revising some texts for my English exams and I decided to use them as a prompt instead because I like things to be contrived)

Adrien had many interests, and his father encouraged all of them - whether that was fencing, music, Chinese. He always received the very best instruction in whatever he set his mind to.

However, he decided not to tell his father about his new interest: acting. He knew that it would probably become a new revenue machine, and that was one sure way to drain the enjoyment from anything. Right now, he really enjoyed acting, and wanted to protect that little secret pleasure.

It was an interest that had been ignited when Nino had asked him to play Agent Jones in his short film, and he had enjoyed assuming the role of someone else for a short time - perhaps that was why he so enjoyed being Chat Noir. Later still, seeing The Mime perform at the Eiffel Tower, he decided this was something he really wanted to look into.

So Adrien began reading. Molière, Sartre, Racine, Beaumarchis, Giraudoux… and then onto the other great dramatists, from Euripedes to Shakespeare to Ibsen. He came to have favourites; Moliere’s _Le Misanthrope_ , Shakespeare’s _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , and Wilde’s _Salome_. The last struck him most of all; how could an Englishman write such a fantastic work in a language that was not his own? More importantly, how much more delicious was his wit in his native tongue?

It was a difficult and arduous process, but Adrien decided to try reading _The Importance of Being Earnest_ in its original English. He had learnt the language when he was younger - it was now taking a backseat to his Chinese - but his ability had somewhat slipped from disuse, and he struggled to understand the opening scene fully. He would read each piece of dialogue once and see how much he understood without a dictionary, before then translating it properly. Then he would review each page, to make sure he grasped it fully. The jokes that he understood were funny, and Wilde had a very similar style to Molière; the comedy of manners, both straight-laced and wanton. The language, though cumbersome, was entertainingly so, and he found himself enjoying each dazzling riposte.

But one line by Lady Bracknell stopped him dead. Comedy wasn’t really supposed to make you think, and jokes weren’t really supposed to hit a nerve, but this one somehow strangely struck him.

_To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness._

Why did this resonate so deeply with him? He shouldn’t feel so upset, and yet…

When his mother had disappeared, it was a tragedy, and it had shaken everyone. It had been so recent, and the wounds were still a little raw. Small things would set him off; one person fewer at the dinner table, mother’s day displays in shop windows, expecting her warm hands waking him up in the morning. Sometimes, he swore he could catch her smell in the long hallways of the house. That great Klimt imitation in his father’s office, or even his own reflection - her eyes, her smile - could catch him off guard when he wasn’t concentrating. There she was! She was back! But it was never the reality in which he found himself, and the brief glimmer of hope made the heartbreak all the stronger.

He had loved his mother, his kind, gentle, beautiful mother. Her eyes had always held laughter, and even his father, the most serious person he knew, mellowed around her and became hazy. She was sensitive and compassionate, and could not see her family, or some small part of nature, in distress without a tear springing immediately into her eye. With her sensitivity came anger, but it was always just and never personal. Adrien had received from her his looks, and his passion. He longed to be able to enthuse about things with her again, and to have debates, and simply to hear her voice. How she used to sing, waltzing around the house as she worked… why, his home was silent, lifeless, now.

That was the misfortune. But in losing her, he had lost his father, and perhaps that was the carelessness.

Mrs Agreste was not only the light in her son’s life, but in her husband’s. Gabriel Agreste had revered her as his Muse, and as his rose, and without her neither art nor ardour could stir his blood. He became cold and closed, unfeeling, both to the world and to his son. He hardly came out of his office. He rarely smiled. He never, ever said a good word.

In this way, he had lost both his father and his mother. Worst of all, it may have been his fault. He had been so consumed with his own concerns and tears that he had failed to notice how his father was being engulfed by his own. Indeed, had he not blamed his father, once?

“If you’d cared more about her and less about yourself, she wouldn’t be gone!”

They’d been uttered in a moment of anger, when the sight of his father still working in spite of it all had upset him in ways he couldn’t put to words. He ought to be respecting his wife, looking for her, and not focusing on his own fame. Or something like that - it was so incoherent… and now he heard those words screaming sharply through his ears whenever he saw his father’s stern look.

Yes, Gabriel Agreste had always been somewhat reserved, but what he saw now was genuine absence. His father was gone, utterly detached, and it was his own carelessness that had pushed him to that edge.

Adrien just wanted a family again. He wanted to be like any other teenage boy; to have a father and a mother who loved him, who could see his flaws and smooth them over, gently set the worlds to right. He wanted Parent’s Consultation evenings, family meals, someone to ask him how his day was. His absent family made him feel worthless somehow. No one at school appreciated him for himself - he was just a minor celebrity with nice hair - and his father seemed to think of him as little more than an investment. But if he had a family again, a real one, that understood him and loved him regardless…

But Adrien wasn’t really meant for love, was he? Having ruined it at home, and having parts of him that he couldn’t reveal to anyone… it meant Adrien was truly alone.


	4. Love / Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a canon couple, you don’t really see much content to do with Mylène and Ivan and I’m going to try to put that to rights >;0
> 
> Tbh I’d like to see more of them in the show, because they generally make a really cute couple?? love them opposites attract types tbh
> 
> The inspiration for this fic came from that song that Ivan writes Mylène in the Origins story: proof, if you ever doubted it, that Ivan Bruel is as angsty as the rest of these nerds (btw I watched the show subbed so if the lyrics are any different in the dub translation then forgive me and just go with it, I guess)

_Mylène, my oxygen_

Ivan couldn’t quite trace when he’d started pining for Mylène, but he didn’t see when this situation of his would finish.

What had started maybe as a mere crush had now been subsumed into something that felt far greater than that. Even the thought of her put him in a spin, nevermind how he felt when he saw her. His day immediately became brighter, and his mood - his lungs - instantly lightened and he could breathe the pure air once more. Seeing her made him feel warm.

She had somehow become everything to him, and that unnerved and unsettled him in equal measure.

_The prettiest of the middle-schoolers_

So, she was pretty. That was an undeniable fact, and the first lure that had been cast.

He liked looking at her, when she was distracted and couldn’t notice his eyes linger over her. She was small and soft, with big honeyed eyes that drew him in like an insect. He loved the way she dressed, full of colour and joie-de-vivre; it was part of the reason why seeing her made him feel so glad.

_Stronger than an oak_

He supposed it was also intimately tied up in how gentle she was, how honest. And yet she tried so hard to be brave, and she always pushed herself to do her best, even though he could see the faint stirrings of fear in her face whenever she raised her voice; how her hands trembled and her eyes never quite settled.

In this silent bravery of hers, Ivan saw a strength much more admirable than his. His forceful outpourings stemmed from his inner disquiet, hers came in spite of it. He found this, her subtle defiance, more admirable than anything.

In a way, she was the strongest person he knew. Though physically she betrayed vulnerability, he knew that the soul inside was resilient and bloomed bright.

_For others you fight_

Mylène would hardly ever fight for herself. If Chloé matted gum into her hair or stole her schoolwork to laugh at it, she wouldn’t respond. Like a martyr, head bowed, she would let it happen, even though tears gnawed at her eyes.

But if Rose, or Max, or anyone else was on the receiving end of her taunts, Mylène would rise to her feet, shaking but steadfast even so, and kindly ask Chloé to stop. Not that Chloé often listened (or heard, since Mylené’s voice was so soft), but Chloé’s chosen victim could be sure that Mylené would come later, check they were okay, and give them some chocolate.

The compassion that she showed in these moments, even though she saw so little compassion herself. That single-minded concern of hers was so inspiring to see. It was part of the reason why he loved her.

_Will you be my queen?_

Unlike her, he was hesitant. He, who was one of the loudest in the class, who listened to metal, who found it easier to shout than to whisper. It proved that, despite his repuation, Ivan really was a coward.

That was why his situation, his painful, stupid crush, would never end.

_Answer me, Mylène_

He wouldn’t tell her. He would never have the courage. He didn’t want his emotions to stifle her, to crush her - she, who was the most gentle and delicate of all, could hardly take that amount of repressed bullshit. It would terrify her.

The depth of it terrified him.

_Look at me, Mylène_

More terrifying was the prospect of rejection - no, the certainty of it. Why would Mylène like him?. Awkwardly large, face battered and permanently somehow discontent. He sounded angry without meaning to be, and his hands were clumsy and hurtful. They didn’t like the same things, they hardly talked, they… simply weren’t meant to be. He came across like a lumbering bully, and he was not fit to tread the ground this gentle creature walked on. He wasn’t fit to touch her, to speak to her. She should not have to be insulted by his love.

No, his crush wouldn’t end that way. He didn’t deserve a happy ending.

He very highly doubted it would end any other way. He wouldn’t get over her. He loved her by now too much to let go of that bright part of his life. He doubted that would fade.

_I’ll never hurt you_

He knew he’d never tell her. It was the only way to spare her from the anguish and the hurt he caused.


	5. Victory / Defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s always time for a little existential crisis in between kicking ass.

Some backstory: the akumatised Forget-Me-Not, originally a scorned lover whose girlfriend was moving country, had made her way through the streets of Paris, a ghostly figure in long white robes - half wedding, half funeral. In her hands she’d held a great bouquet of flowers, whose petals she hurled like daggers and made people forget those they knew, who they themselves were, anything. The city’s two superheroes had been lucky to dodge barrage after barrage of these blossoms, and could lay her memory to rest as efficiently as any other akuma.

Paris, with Forget-Me-Not defeated, now came back to life, blinked the sleep from its eyes. Mothers clutched their children tight, husbands swept wives into their embrace, and friends took one another by hand. I’m here, they said, I remember you, you’re important to me. Forget-Me-Not herself was tucked into her girlfriend’s arms, her hair gently being stroked as she sobbed relentlessly - but it was all going to be okay darling, I’ll write you letters, I’ll call you, I’ll come visit every few months. They each repeated their affirmations like a mantra, the memory of something like loss reminding them how important it was to never let go of what they had.

Chat Noir watched them all from above, and saw Forget-Me-Not’s tears calm as she was finally reassured of her own significance. He smiled - boy, was it good when things fell into place. He turned to Ladybug, who was also watching the scene beside him. The general fervour seized him too, and he gave her a slightly lopsided smile, “Well, my lady, this seems like an appropriate time to tell you how utterly, irrevocably, unforgettable you are.”

She made a sound that he couldn’t decipher. Probably annoyance; she still hadn’t totally warmed up to his flirtatious banter.

He backtracked, “Also, I’m not sure it was the most inspired choice for a name. Almost a bit hypocritical, right?” he grinned, and made vast, sweeping gestures, “I mean, she made people forget things… and yet her name, and her backstory, suggest she’s very against forgetting. Wasn’t there anything more cohesive she could have come up with? Even something lame like… Forgetta would probably have made more sense.”

His partner was still stony silent. Warning bells began ringing.

“Ladybug?”

She sniffed, her voice small, “Yeah?”

“Oh no,” he murmured, taking her into his arms and putting his hand at the nape of her hair, unintentionally mirroring the pose that Forget-Me-Not and her lover had assumed, “What’s wrong, Ladybug?”

“I-I don’t know…” her voice was muffled slightly against his suit, “I think I’m just tired. Don’t worry about it.”

She half-heartedly made to push him away, but he gently kept her close. She was free to leave if she wanted to, his arms did not trap her, but he wanted it to be clear that he was here for her. He told her this, lowly, into her hair.

“I’m just tired, Chat.”

Some backstory: while chasing Forget-Me-Not through the city, she had seen one petalled blade make her way into her father’s chest. She had seen his eyes glaze over, and she had seen the way he had looked at his wife, her mother. She could see his confusion, the discomfort as Sabine moved to touch him. She had seen the hurt in her mother’s eyes, even from a distance. It was as though she had seen the breakdown of a marriage, the most loving relationship she knew. It had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She knew it would be fixed now, but it unsettled her and permeated deep into her fears.

She narrated this all to him, holding back tears. Chat Noir felt choked by the raw emotion as it trickled from her lips. He was reminded that she was, after all, a civilian under all the bravado. She was still mortal. She was the strongest person he knew, but she too needed protecting.

“And I’m tired,” she repeated, “I don’t want to do this.”

“We-”

“Need to do this. I _know_ ,” her voice cracked, “But it just doesn’t stop. I know we always win. We always come out victorious.”

“We’re a good team.”

“But we’re treating symptoms, Chat, we’re not tackling the direct issue. Hawkmoth is still out there, he’s still hurting vulnerable people, and he’s not going to stop. He could do it again tomorrow, I’m sure he could do it again right now if he wanted to. Are we just delaying the inevitable? Is this just a hopeless task? Can we even win? I feel like I’m stuck in a loop, almost. Nothing’s changing. We’re not _doing_ anything, not really.”

“I think we are. We’re doing something that’s significant, I’m sure of it. And then, as soon as we find Hawkmoth, we can do even more, and then it’ll be over”

“And what if we slip up before then, if he takes our Miraculouses or anything like that? You know, when I’m fighting these things, sometimes I think about the reality that would be in store for us all if they won. And Forget-Me-Not’s… that’s not a reality I want to live.”

He softly twisted one of her pigtails through his fingers, “I’ll make sure you don’t have to. I’ll protect this reality, the one we’re in right now, the one you love, and make sure it never fades for you.”

She laughed, almost, “That’s very honourable, my knight.”

The pet name sent his heart soaring, but he decided not to comment on it; it wasn’t the time, “So, will you be by my side, helping me to protect it, Paris? Until we find Hawkmoth, and stop him for good, I’ll keep fighting. And, I know this fact for sure, we’ll keep winning.”

She was quiet for a moment. Her fingers clenched against his chest, she took a single, deep, shuddering breath, “I’ll probably detransform soon. Goodbye, Chat.”

And then she was off, soaring over the rooftops.

He watched her go, and shuddered. Her indecision, the revelation of her intimate feelings, raised a desperate question; had Ladybug given up? Had this one fight broken her, pushed her to the edge of her endurance?

Was it goodbye for now, or for good?


	6. Confessions / Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has Marinette suffered enough? I think not
> 
> Also I've been writing mostly LadyNoir this week but this is a TOTALLY different side of that love square so it keeps it spicy
> 
> Honestly I don’t see how the final reveal or some kind of communication within the love square couldn’t be super sweet and saccharine, but if anyone would react badly to anything I think it would be Marinette. And hey! it’s fun to write bad reactions so herrreeeee we go

Ms Mendeleiv didn’t allow talking in her class, so the principal method of communcation was passing notes. Alya, for one, preferred scrawling over Marinette’s classwork until it was no longer fit for marking. However, if she needed Adrien or Nino, she’d tear out a page and pass a note forwards; keeping it old school.

Marinette could see that Adrien and Nino had a similar system, but exercised in a much neater and more covert system since they were right at the front of the class. They used barricades of pencil cases, slipped messages seamlessly into the margins of their work, and other tricks that were contrived and obvious, yet pulled off seamlessly. Seamlessly enough, in fact, that usually neither Marinette or Alya could read over their shoulders.

Watching the passing of notes in front of her often distracted Marinette from class, ridiculous as that was. If she could scry /any/ information about Adrien, she didn’t see the problem. Well… the problem was that she was obsessed, but she didn’t need her strange behaviours to tell her that.

Nino wrote something on the corner of his notebook and angled it slightly for Adrien to read. He blushed in response, and hesitantly scrawled a big, visible ‘Yes’. Marinette wondered about the meaning of that blush - how she loved that new hue on his skin, how she longed for it to be hers - but fortunately its cause was revealed to her without much delay. The explanation was Nino drawing a cluster of hearts on the back of his friend’s hand.

Marinette felt herself blush now. This was a /love/ conversation. Intrigued (and a little optimistic), she leaned ever so slightly forwards. Alya noticed this, quirking an eyebrow as she wrote: 'you really like chemistry, huh?’

Yes, chemistry, but not of the sort they taught you at school.

After a pause, she saw Adrien write something else that made Nino snort silently. He mouthed something at his friend, shock and a little mirth etched in his face in pronounced o’s (his mouth, his eyes). Adrien’s blush deepened, and he nodded. This was too much for Nino, who smacked the edge of the desk with his hand and made the same surprised shapes with his mouth, before mixing in a few more.

Ms Mendeleiv could not fail to notice this, and Nino received a sharp reprimand for not paying attention. This put a stop to the period’s note-swapping, but nothing could stop Nino’s prolific doodling; Adrien’s notes were quite flooded with love hearts by the time the bell rang.

Nino’s head whipped around, and he smirked at his female classmates, “You’ll never guess what kind of secrets our Adrien has been hiding.”

Adrien moaned, rolling his eyes in exasperation, “Nino!”

“Lesson to you rookie, never trust your secrets with the beefmaster,” he declared with a wink.

“ _Beefmaster_?”

“I think it sounds pretty righteous, but the title’s in beta period, so be sure to let me know what you think of it. _Anyway_ , Adrien has a crush.”

Marinette felt that traitorous blush from before swell in her cheeks. Alya was quicker to respond, and did so with almost as much enthusiasm as her friend felt, “Oh, really? I guess you’re not as innocent as we supposed, Adrien.”

Another moan, “Oh, be quiet.”

“You’ll never guess who it is.”

“Chloé?”

Adrien made a face, “Um, I…”

“Actually, you know what, maybe it’s a dude!”

“Not tha-”

“Oh, I know, I know!” and then, with a sly smile, “It’s Marinette. Or me. But probably Marinette.”

The girl in question made an indiscriminate noise in her throat.

“Oh, _dude_ , the truth is way beefier than that,” Nino said in his most dramatic voice, leaning into the row behind conspiratorially, “It’s…”

“Nino, do they _have_ to know?”

“It’s Ladybug. Literal defender of Paris, Ladybug. Adrien has a crush on an actual superhero, who, let’s just make this clear, he’s never actually seen the face of.”

“Well, when you put it like that-”

“I think he’s reaching, if you ask me,” and when Adrien moved as though to talk, he quickly cut in, “Like, you’re hot, I’m not debating that you’re basically a 10. But that’s one interesting relationship you’re aiming for.”

Meanwhile, Marinette was practically steaming with her blush. She felt Alya’s hand go to her knee in comfort, but she’d misunderstood - she wasn’t blushing through embarrassment of rejection but embarrassment at being discussed. Honestly, oh my god. Adrien liked her. Except not her. Maybe a bit of her?

Nino was right when he called that prospective relationship 'interesting’.

* * *

Had Alya not been endlessly debating whether or not to follow her new creative impulse and start a new blog series focusing on Ladybug’s many civilian admirers (suitors was maybe a word for it), she would have seen the girl herself shoot past her window on the way to the Agreste mansion.

Marinette wasn’t entirely sure why she was going in the first place, but a sudden need had seized her, and Tikki just… had to go with it. It occurred to her now that she should probably have a reason for showing up at Adrien’s window unannounced, but her impulses hadn’t yet taken her that far.

She didn’t even know the _reason_ , let alone the excuse. The way she saw it, she could use this new information (Nino was, after all, a reliable 'beefkeeper’, and Adrien’s reactions confirmed it as truth) in two ways.

Method one: appear at Adrien’s window as Ladybug, say hello, ask to come inside. Once inside, make small talk, and probably use that excuse she was going to have to come up with. Here, method one diverged. She could make a habit of these trips and build up something more like a relationship - or she could just make her move on him right there and then. That latter option depended on (most implausibly) her own confidence at the time. But if not now, when? She’d pretty much got a confession that he wanted to kiss her, and it wasn’t important exactly which of her selves had received that statement. Though it may come across abruptly, awkwardly… there were evident issues with method one.

Method two: appear at Adrien’s window, also as Ladybug, say hello, ask to come inside. Method two followed method one up to method one’s divergence: so, in a way, perhaps method three was just another route down method one, except for the fact that method two was totally different to method one in its outcomes. Method two was its own thing. She wasn’t going to confuse her methods and do the wrong thing and embarrass herself. Method two - if she’d stop distracting herself with semantics - revolved around revealing to him her identity.

'Ladybug is Marinette. You love Ladybug. Therefore you must also love Marinette’. A perfect syllogism.

Marinette/Ladybug was now perched on the roof of Adrien’s home, inside the cupola so that she could hide for a moment, get her thoughts back in order. But, here, a little closer to Adrien, her thoughts became an ever-increasing muddle.

Ultimately, Ladybug was not Marinette. Yes, they shared a body, but they could hardly really be called the same person. Being in the spotted suit gave Marinette a confidence she’d never had before. Marinette blushed and tripped and stuttered; Ladybug waltzed through city sunsets. Marinette devolved into syllables whenever Adrien even looked at her; Ladybug always had a good comeback. Marinette was ordinary; Ladybug was miraculous.

Adrien’s crush was on a brave, optimistic, heroic girl. While Marinette stood up to Chloé on occasion, and always tried to lift her classmates’ spirits, how could that compare to someone who came to the aid of all of Paris rescue every week? Ladybug was mysterious too - Marinette had read somewhere that boys liked girls who played hard to get, and honestly what was harder than someone who couldn’t reveal their identity to you? The masked superhero was mysterious, walking allure, gold dust step and evensong voice, a glamour. Marinette was a school girl. She went to class. That was all.

Just because he was infatuated with Ladybug, it didn’t mean he was in love with her flipside. The difference between the persona and the reality was vast, and it was splintered. How could she compare to it? How could she live up to that thing that was not herself?

She slumped deeper onto the roof. Oh god, what if she unmasked herself and he was _disappointed_? No, it wasn’t an if, because when she unmasked herself he _would_ be disappointed. Boring, normal Marinette, daring to step in the same shoes as a girl he idolised. He didn’t know her, he couldn’t _really_ love her, he just idolised her. And it was foolish to think that idolatry transferred to reality and transformed into genuine affection. God, was she foolish.

She thought about her every interaction with Adrien as Ladybug. Staring silences, wide-eyed introductions, stuttering on the other side of a shower door. None of it was _meaningful_. He just wanted it to be, and so he made it so, and so he told himself he loved her.

And wasn’t that how she felt about Adrien? When had she actually /talked/ to him, connected with him? She had simply seized upon one act of kindness and put him on a pedestal. Maybe she loved him because she was bored (boring) and lonely, and aware of these things and desperate for something to change them. Adrien would’ve changed them. He was a model!

Pathetic. Yeah right. Model, superhero, what did it matter? It meant nothing in the end. Being Ladybug never fixed Marinette.

Poor, boring, average Marinette. Hopeless Marinette. _Disgusting_ Marinette.

She couldn’t believe she’d considered using her persona to trick him into loving her back. She couldn’t believe she’d considered revealing that broken human beneath and had really thought he would fall for it, stare at her the same way he did the other her. She couldn’t believe that even now she was thinking of kissing him, Marinette or Ladybug or Marinette, in an endless, desperate, needy loop.

She let go of that excuse she had been preparing, and crawled out of the small space on the roof. No, she’d go home. These things didn’t need to be revealed. Her civilian self could slumber safely on in his world. The idolatrous loves they claimed to have could be laid to rest - or, at least hers. She didn’t know how to tell Adrien it was impossible - and parts of her still didn’t want to, and she turned in disgust from those parts.

If Marinette needed fixing, she didn’t need Adrien’s love to do it. In fact, the opposite. She needed to spurn it. She wasn’t good enough for it: Ladybug was, but Ladybug was a lie, and Marinette was not Ladybug.

When she sprang back into her room, still in her suit, she became like Nino, doodling over and over, mercilessly, over any scrap of paper she found. Angry, hot-tears squiggles, again and again, over each photo she had stuck to her walls. Stupid, stupid, stupid for wishing for it, disgusting for wishing for it.

When she detransformed, it was like relief. Underneath the legend, Marinette was still there, and still real.

Still average, and still lonely, but that was okay.

At least it wasn’t a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all intents and purposes, this is the end of the week!
> 
> The last prompt, the AU, got so long I decided to post it as a fic on its own right; so if you want to complete the week, make sure to check out [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10664433/chapters/23603268) for more Adrinette feels.
> 
> Also I redid this concept to make it lighter (THANKS FOR ENCOURAGING ME COMMENT SECTION) so that can be found [here if you wish it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10735023)


End file.
